Arm in Arm in Arm
by Saru Wolfe
Summary: The Waystone Inn receives a familiar visitor, and is better for it.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I have no explanation for these events, but no apologies, either. Enjoy!

* * *

Reshi being out meant that it was guaranteed to be a fun day. Of course Bast had to see about everyday business at the inn, but that left him plenty of time to himself. While Reshi did not often forbid Bast to do things, he tended to adopt a certain expression of resigned disappointment that made it near impossible to misbehave sometimes. It was a lot easier for Bast to entertain himself when he was not in danger of running into that look.

Fortunately, Bast was actually in the front instead of causing trouble when someone came in. It was a surprise, certainly—mostly because Bast did not recognize him. Strangers were a rarity in this tiny place. And even if strangers did appear, they were definitely not Adem.

There was no mistaking that blood-red clothing, though, or the way the man's gaze swept the room and then rested naturally at a downward angle. Bast had been hoping for something to amuse him, and here he was. The Fae sauntered directly into the man's path and put his hands on his hips, grinning widely. "Hello, good sir!" he greeted enthusiastically, voice lilting. He adopted a drawling provincial accent for the occasion. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"

The Adem continued to stare blankly at Bast's midriff, unfazed. His hand moved slightly, but not in one of the few gestures Bast would recognize. "Good morning," he returned politely.

"Isn't it?" Bast clapped him on the shoulder and steered him to the bar. "Have a seat! What can I do for you?" He danced around behind the bar as soon as the Adem was seated. He had begged and begged and _begged_ until Reshi had taught him a single rude Adem gesture, and he made sure to slip it into his movements as he tossed a rag aside and leaned against the bar. The other man's expression flickered, and Bast's toothy smile broadened. One point. "Maybe some breakfast? Got some left over from earlier."

The smallest of muscles pulled in the man's arm; he was making gestures again, even with his hands behind the bar. "No, thank you."

"I insist!" Bast spun about and grabbed half a loaf of bread. He hummed obnoxiously as he sliced it up and put honey on a few slices. He made sure to burst into heartfelt song just as he turned around with a filled plate. The Adem stared at the bar as if he hoped it would rise up and knock Bast unconscious. Bast finished with a ridiculously long note and dropped the plate in front of the other man. "There you go—eat up!"

The Adem just inhaled and exhaled with a little too much control.

Bast leaned against the bar again, grinning smugly. "What brings you to these parts?"

"Looking for someone."

"Ooh, really? We don't get a lot of Adem out here," Bast drawled. "Who're you looking for?"

The Adem paused, possibly considering. "Kvothe."

Bast stopped, breath hanging in his throat. He lowered himself slightly, shoulders at sharp, predatory angles. "Who?" he asked, and his overbearing, countryside manner was gone. His voice was low and dark and smooth.

The Adem's eyes snapped up to assess him and his change in nature before answering again. "Kvothe."

Bast slid back around the bar and behind the man, leaning against his shoulder amiably and baring a sharp-toothed smile. "So sorry, but you won't find anyone around here who knows that name. Since you gave me a useless name, maybe you can give me a solid one next…like yours."

The Adem spun away from Bast's weight and stood in one smooth motion. He took a moment to gauge whether he would suffer any other attacks—and another moment to stare at Bast's feet. Only then did he speak. "I am Tempi."

Bast cocked his head to the side—but it was hard enough for a mortal to lie to him, much less about his own name. _The_ Tempi had honestly found his way into the inn. Bast's shoulders fell back and his chin tilted up as he laughed delightedly. "So you are! Tempi—sit back down." Bast followed his own advice, hopping gracefully onto a stool. "He is here, by which I mean this place is his. He should be back soon."

"Not surprised," Tempi noted as he perched on the barstool he had recently abandoned.

Bast smirked. "Not even a little?"

Tempi turned one hand over in what could have been a shrug. "Kvothe and the Fae," he replied disinterestedly, as if that explained everything.

_Well_, he was certainly sharper than your average farmhand. Bast grinned. "I think you're going to be very fun to have around." He brightened. "Why not start now? I know you have some tales of Reshi when he was a misbehaving young man."

"I will wait until he returns," Tempi answered patiently.

Bast sighed melodramatically as he kicked up his legs and propped his hooves on the nearest table. "I was wrong. You are not entertaining at all."

"You are the innkeeper," Tempi pointed out. "_You_ are supposed to entertain." His face was blank and Bast couldn't read gestures, but the Adem's voice was decidedly amused.

Bast scoffed with a muttered comment about uppity mortals and made sure to include the Adem insult in his general movements. Tempi was boring in that he did not respond.

Fortunately, Bast did not have to wait for long; Reshi returned. Bast bounded out the door and slumped against the side of the inn. "What took you so long?" he demanded.

A hint of a smile appeared. "Have you been studying?" Reshi asked.

"Well, I would have been," Bast began, and Reshi pinched the bridge of his nose and looked trapped between laughing and sighing. "But someone actually came by."

"Did you see to them?"

Bast spread his hands noncommittally and began strolling back inside.

This time, Reshi did sigh. "Bast, it is our business, and it is not that hard. I know you have it in you to take five minutes out of your day to—" He stopped halfway through the door, weary inkeep's countenance brightening until it was almost gone.

Tempi rose, hands already moving enthusiastically. "Kvothe."

Reshi was completely still for a moment before taking two long steps and gripping the Adem by his shoulders. "Tempi!" he said, and it came out half-choked but joyful. Tempi laughed and ruffled Reshi's hair, and then they were both signing and talking animatedly. Bast just sat back and smiled complacently at them. The locals would not have noticed, but Reshi was standing just a little bit taller; his smile was less purposeful than usual, and his voice had a livelier cadence. He was more the man he had been.

That decided it. Tempi was staying around as long as Bast could make him.


	2. Chapter 2

Bast had employed all his usual methods of persuasion, which mostly amounted to pleading obnoxiously like a small child. For all his eternal, untamed nature, sometimes Bast truly was just an overzealous boy. At times, Kvothe found himself giving in to him. His requests could be relatively harmless, and sometimes it was worth it to have his infectious, mischievous joy fill the place. However, it seemed Tempi did not feel the same.

Tempi was older than Kvothe remembered. It should have been obvious, but Kvothe had not been expecting it. On the occasions he had thought of his friend, he had conjured up the image of the same quiet young man he had known all those years ago. But this was not the same Tempi. He was weathered, though he still stood tall. He was still quiet, but it was a different quiet than the withdrawn uncertainty of his youth. There was more peace in his silences, more ease in his stance. He had a serene, long-suffering patience that allowed him to endure more—even, it seemed, Bast's plaintive requests. No matter how Bast presented his desire, Tempi would not teach him how to fight by the Lethani.

And so it was Kvothe who gave in first. One evening, exasperated beyond measure, he suggested that the two of them simply have a sparring match and be done with it. His pupil was delighted by the idea, almost worryingly so. But Tempi did not appear concerned; he only replied that if Kvothe thought it a good idea, he would be willing.

Tempi and Bast departed for a clearing behind the inn and out of sight. Kvothe lingered to lock up, wondering whether he had exhibited poor judgment. When he caught up to them, Bast had flung his jacket to the side and was working off his shirt. Tempi stood a short distance away performing a few simple stretches. His was a look of unruffled concentration, while Bast aimed a brash grin at Kvothe. "Do you want me to take notes, Reshi?"

"I think you should focus on not being beaten miserably," Kvothe replied dryly.

Bast's eyes did not turn the pure blue of the Fae, but they did brighten and glitter like a crashing wave. "You wound me," he drawled, voice spiraling through the words. He was not so much a man anymore as he turned to face the Adem, but he would wait for his Reshi's command.

Kvothe nodded at Tempi and gave it. "Begin." His sense of the moment had brought back old dramatic habits, and the word rang through the clearing like a gong. The entire space shifted.

Bast slid forward like liquid and struck at the last moment, but in his usual way, Tempi had found a safer space to occupy. Without hesitation, Bast spun low and brought his other hand around—only to meet air again. And so it continued.

Bast was no human, and did not move like one. He slashed and snapped ferociously, moving almost too quickly to follow. He rolled from one blow to another, never ceasing, never still. He twisted and bent in unnatural stances that brought him almost level with the ground and then vaulted him into the air. He struck from every direction. Tempi, on the other hand, moved little. He only shifted enough to avoid each blow. He had no time for anything more, but that much he managed every time. He turned to the side, stepped back, or ducked slightly. His movements were just enough to make him untouchable.

It was a useless battle. Bast was a storm, and Tempi was a leaf on the wind; neither could harm the other. Kvothe should have stopped it sooner, but it was enthralling. Bast whirled and danced around his opponent, and Tempi barely moved.

"Enough," Kvothe boomed, before he could find out who would hurt the other first.

They both stopped, though for one tense moment they did not back up, but remained almost nose to nose, Tempi's pale gaze cast down on Bast's sharp smile. Kvothe leveled a look at them and cleared his throat pointedly, which broke up the moment effectively. "It was just about to be interesting!" Bast whinged as he sauntered back toward Kvothe. His stance was still predatory, but his pout was ridiculous as ever.

"Too interesting," Kvothe retorted. He tossed Bast his shirt. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."

Bast tossed the shirt over his shoulder, ignoring it. He grinned. "I did, Reshi."

"Perhaps you should try, Kvothe," Tempi put in.

Kvothe looked to him sharply, frowning. He inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry to say that I have not been keeping up with my form."

"Then you need practice."

He could not. That part of him had passed now, and he had hoped he would not have to admit that to Tempi of all people. At least he could still act well enough to conceal his humiliation.

When he didn't reply, Tempi continued, "Unless you would rather spar with Bast."

Kvothe knew without considering it how useless that would be. He was not sure Bast would hit him, for one, and he knew that Bast would not win. And his pride was suffering enough without his student pandering to him. "No."

"Then show me." Tempi's tone was not aggressive, but it left no room for argument. He put one finger of his left hand on top of another—challenge.

"I think we've had enough sparring for one day."

"Show me," Tempi repeated, and this time it was a command.

Kvothe's jaw clamped, but he took one stiff step toward him after another until he was standing within arm's length of Tempi. His resentment only worsened when Bast cheered from behind him. He might as well get this over with.

It was worse than he had imagined. Tempi had knocked him flat on his back in seconds. Kvothe remembered how to move, but could not make his body do it. He pushed himself back on his feet, glowering at Tempi. "Satisfied?"

"Again," Tempi ordered.

Kvothe stepped in to punch, but missed entirely when Tempi moved. At least he had the presence of mind to follow through in a different direction before Tempi could land a blow again. It was a losing battle, though, and he knew it. He would be beaten sooner or later, and why not have it sooner?

That was when a fist connected with the corner of his jaw. Kvothe winced and pressed his palm against it and worked it back and forth.

"Not paying attention," Tempi told him patiently.

Kvothe let out a sharp breath and got in a defensive stance, or what he remembered of it. It had been years since he had used any of this, and moving freely was not as easy as he had recalled. He _was_ getting old. He found himself bracing for the inevitable as Tempi came at him. He moved around the first strike and blocked the second, but the third caught him right below the nose, and he stumbled back, blinded by sudden tears. He heard a distressed call of "Reshi!" but shook his head sharply.

"Again," Tempi said.

"No." Kvothe straightened, swiping roughly at his face. "You've beaten me. We are done." He turned abruptly and stalked toward the inn.

Something caught his ankle and sent him sprawling forward, and he landed heavily on his elbows. "Get up," Tempi commanded. "Again."

With a growl, Kvothe rolled to his feet and came at the Adem, but his opponent was no longer there. "You are angry," Tempi noted. A second punch only resulted in his wrist being twisted to his side. "Distracted. Thinking too much."

If he had been thinking, he would have not made such poor decisions this evening. Knuckles struck his temple, which only made his pathetic attacks even more useless. When he could focus again, Tempi was standing a short distance away, and he was not simply stern; he was angry, perhaps as angry as Kvothe was. Kvothe blinked, then saw his student begin to move for Tempi. "Bast, _no_," he ground out. He watched Tempi carefully.

He did not have to watch Tempi's hands to know that he was signing anger, but he did anyway, and saw disappointment there, as well. "Thinking too much, about yourself. You pity yourself, let your bitterness drive you. Your focus is inside you." This time his gesture was _accusation_, and it filled his voice and made it flinty. "Not as good at fighting is fine. But you forgot the Lethani."

The humiliation of being beaten was nothing to the shame of that truth, especially presented by Tempi. Kvothe looked down and took a steadying breath. Bast began to try to interrupt, to suggest that they go inside, but Kvothe held up a hand. He took another long breath, and another, trying to find something he had lost a long time ago.

Minutes passed in silence this way, all three men unmoving. Finally, Kvothe stood straight and nodded. "Again."

It was still a travesty of his younger years, certainly. Tempi was far better than he now, and defeated him in less than two minutes. But when Tempi swept the blade of his hand at him, Kvothe _moved_. He did not resent or despair or anticipate; he avoided it and shifted behind Tempi. His overhand strike met air, but so did Tempi's kick. His technique was not perfect, nor his movements completely smooth, but his mind and body drifted nearly as they once did, reacting freely, riding eddies in the tide of battle.

Tempi struck first, of course. But this time, the blow was merely perfunctory, not painful. Bast stood frozen, muscles straining as if trying to reach them despite some hindrance. Kvothe stepped back—and laughed.

Tempi laughed, too, and put an arm around his shoulders, which he gladly accepted. "You did not forget," his friend said, proud.

"I did," Kvothe admitted. He was smiling now. Loss or no, he had not moved like that in years, and something in his heart had lifted. "Thank you for reminding me."

Tempi made a gesture of acceptance, and together, worn but glad, they headed back toward the inn. Bast spent the entire walk and much of the night inside fussing over Kvothe's injuries, but he was not as upset as he normally was whenever his Reshi managed to hurt himself. Kvothe knew his pupil was protective of him, but he did not seem to bear any malice toward Tempi, at least. Perhaps he found all the laughter contagious, or was distracted by tales of years ago. Whatever the cause, the three of them were able to pass the night in cheery, reminiscent camaraderie, and for once, Kvothe did not feel quite so old.


End file.
